


Tutus Praeter Te

by imdex



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Additional Warnings Apply, Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Anal Sex, Asphyxiation, Bondage, Dark Magic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Relationships, F/M, Fivesome - F/M/M/M/M, Force Choking, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Mental Anguish, Mental Breakdown, Multi, Naked Cuddling, Nightmares, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Prompt Fic, Protectiveness, Psychological Torture, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sleep Deprivation, Tentacle Rape, Triple Penetration, Vaginal Sex, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-19 16:27:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8217019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imdex/pseuds/imdex
Summary: The Breton had defeated Miraak but instead of peace she finds herself in torment, agony, and at the mercy of Hermaeus Mora. Deprived of sleep and sporting the wounds from the instances she gives into her exhaustion, Imani returns to Markarth and to her surprise finds safety in the arms of the one person she'd never expected but welcomes wholeheartedly.Ondolemar. She finds peace and protection from the Daedra in his presence but how will the Commander of Markarth break Hermaeus' hold over the Breton...or will they discover more than they first bargained for?





	1. Return

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this prompt and will probably be slow on the updates but fairly steady...maybe. Hopefully. Just work with me :) 
> 
> The Dragonborn is consistently getting nightmares which get worse with each passing night and it is only in Ondolemar's or thalmor company that she is able to relax properly. 
> 
> Bonus:  
> 1) The Dragonborn's race is Breton, Nord, Dark or Wood elf.  
> 2) The nightmares are Miraak's doing and are sexual preferably non-con. Its your choice if the physical injuries can manifest outside the dreams.  
> 3) Ondolemar notices that the Dragonborn is becoming more weak and sick while no one else seems to really care until the Dragonborn fails a mission for the Jarl or doesn't do exactly what she was told to do and Ondolemar finds the Dragonborn slumped in a corner crying/breaking down.  
> 4) Ondolemar learns/finds out about the books, Miraak and the nightmares. He comforts her (Can be words or making her feel pleasure again after what happened.)   
> 5) Fluff/Comfort ending - The Dragonborn finally defeats Miraak. Ondolemar has a surprise for his special little pet (Could be a gangbang with other thalmor agents or anything of your choosing.)  
> 6) Thalmor agents are included somehow (Doesn't have to be sexual but I want them to be more aware of the Dragonborn's condition/state of mind while the people she help aren't.)  
> -  
> I'm okay with other kinks being added in, etc.
> 
> \----
> 
> This will have dark elements throughout. I'm going to try my hand at a slow buildup. Wish me luck because this goes against my code. It's always interesting to put Imani at the side of someone different and I swear I will do my best to properly portray Ondolemar in this story. More tags will be added as we go along but the mentioned characters will make an appearance at some point. Enjoy.

Parchment shifting accompanies the ever lingering growls and groans of monsters within the twisted halls stacked as high as one could see. The air was humid and noticeably heavy and repugnant with the stench of piquant seas of festering green acid, the ever permeating rot of millions of books around her, and the sharp metallic scent of her blood. Before her loomed Miraak, flanked on both sides by the repulsive monstrosities known as Seekers, and above them…

Imani crawled backward weakly and the nausea she'd been trying to quell slams forward with a vengeance and soon the Breton is gasping hungrily for the thick humid air as the acidic cuts sear at her nerves in stinging agony. Tears blur her eyes as she glares skyward and though he has no face she can tell Hermaeus Mora is smiling hatefully as he looms above her.

'You couldn't possibly think that I would allow you to simply turn your back on me after all you've done, Dragonborn.'

His voice was acrimony, tangled with bitter animosity, and from the single biggest grotesque eye thousands more explode and with them tentacles; countless in numbers. The Breton had no time to react, and even if she did, Imani knew she would have been powerless to stop it. The putrid green limbs ensnare her arms and legs as they haul her upward and hold her tight and though completely immobilized she fights as they begin to ooze that same acid that makes up most of the second half of Aprocrypha. 

'Slaying my humble servant,' Miraak tenses and Imani cries out as the foul liquid burns through her armor and eats at her flesh. 'thinking yourself wise to turn down such a gracious offering.' 

Hermaeus tightens his hold, and the Breton can _hear_ as well as feel the subtle cracking of her bones falling prey to his power. 

'You will learn that you cannot escape me, _human_.'

Acting on some unseen cue, Miraak moves and his Seekers with him, and as she goes to cry out at them to stop her mouth is invaded. Her eyes narrow sharply in sickly realization of what she's about to endure, and she can do nothing to ward off the tentacle violating her mouth and throat. As it moves against her tongue, she can vaguely tell that it's shaped somewhat like a phallus and as it oozes bitter liquid down her throat she gags. 

Her eyes water and her face burns in humiliation as she becomes aware of hands, claws, and more slime coated limbs trailing roughly along her nude body. They pay no mind to her acidic scorched flesh and with a jerk, the tentacles twining around the entirety of her legs move, and she is spread open. The Breton cries out in fear and fights, but the intruding tentacle in her mouth slides down her throat once more…

And stills. 

Through her panic she feels more of the slicked tentacles rubbing slime against her sex and against her backside, but despite the dread, she feels minutely the Breton finds her most pressing matter is breathing and the... the _thing_ halfway down her windpipe is preventing it. 

Her stomach coils in revulsion and anxiety as something moves behind her while something else moves to press against her front but she can't see anything any longer. Green eyes go out of focus, and steadily darkness closes around her vision, her pulse hammers powerfully in her ears, and in a single moment of hope, Imani welcomes the prospect of death as her eyes flutter shut. 

But her torment, her way out, her only escape doesn't come. 

The phallus-shaped tentacle is yanked out of her mouth suddenly, and her eyes shoot open as her throat opens and the sweet promise of air wins out over death. As she eagerly goes to suck in the very thing that had eluded her body is brutally violated as the Seekers, before and behind her, invade her. Her scream of agony is muffled by the long tentacle once more as the monsters continue their violent assault on her body. Clawed hands dig into her hips and thighs and from the sharpened hooks, her blood is drawn as they fill her ears with the sounds of their detestable groans and snarls between the sounds of them rutting against her. 

Imani pales and the nausea finally snaps. She heaves against the appendage in her mouth but it doesn't make a move to leave and instead expands to block her throat, and Imani struggles to swallow her bile back down as Hermaeus Mora continues to fuck her mouth. Her senses are ravaged by the exposure, every second adding a new layer to her situation, and as the Seekers move against her her nose crinkles. They amplify the smell of rotting parchment and decaying shelves as they rub against her, grinding their thick cocks buried deep inside her, and the Breton swears at that moment she'd never pick up another book again. 

Assuming that she _did_ live. 

Somewhere near her, too close for her comfort or what little minuscule speck remained of it, Hermaeus chuckles. 

'My dear Dragonborn, you are capable of escaping this.'

The monsters begin to move against her frantically, and the Breton writhes in agony. Imani closes her eyes and prays that escape, her death, that some sort of mercy would be granted soon because she doesn't know how much more she can take. Tears stain her face as she closes her eyes to fight against the dizziness brought on by the pain of the Seekers. And then they come, and Imani's eyes fly open. 

Caustic, searing, and dense, their release floods her and wears against the sensitive flesh of her bowels, and her cunt and the Breton screams and thrashes as best as she is able. A voice cuts through her thoughtless will to escape her torture. Deep, haunted, and completely void of emotion. _Miraak_. 

'Return.'

The Seekers remove themselves, and for a split second, the Breton feels the smallest flicker of hope that she's finally on the brink of waking up. Until the tentacle in her mouth swells and moves frantically and no sooner do the monsters move away, she finds herself filled once more as two tentacles replace them. Imani cries raggedly against the vile limb fucking her throat as the tentacles stretch her wider and smear the acidic substance deeper within her. 

'All you have to do, Imani.'

Hermaeus' words are muted as the Breton falls into the snares of agony and slumps in defeat. She cries as she is violated fiercely by the three tentacles and with a horrendous groan the Daedra finds his release. This substance is thicker, hotter, and Imani feels her rational thinking leave her. It blisters her mouth and throat and eats at her body from within. She hardly feels the ground as she is dropped. The Breton curls into a ball and lashes out wildly. Gagging and screaming, writhing and thrashing, Imani tries to discern if she will need to run or fight the four watch her silently. 

Finally, Miraak gives a slight tilt of his head and the Seekers move. Though her throat is raw and burning the girl screams hoarsely as they lash her with their magick and after a few lingering seconds her vision blackens. The pain dulls, the scents leave, the groaning ceases but before she fades away the voice of the dispatched Dragonborn hisses against her ear. His words are heavy, deceased of remorse, and altogether malevolent. 

'Return, _Dragonborn_.'


	2. Peace

The sodden parchment and smell of mildew was replaced with the soft comfort of dry woven fabric and the odor of spice though the Breton had no time to appreciate it. The moment she woke she bolted from the bed and hardly made it to the bucket at the far side of her room before she was violently ill. Imani didn't bother to try to be silent, she couldn't even if she'd wanted to. She clung to the wood so hard that her fingers turned bone white in contrast and her sounds attracted the attention of the other person in her home. 

Argis stumbled in and in a second was at her side and held her damp hair away from her face as she heaved harder. 

'My Thane?'

The Nords voice was soft and jittery with concern and the nausea finally ceased. She pulled back and gulped desperately for air as she fell back and rested against the cool stone wall. Argis looked her over for a second more and with a tight frown, stood, and rushed from the room muttering beneath his breath in worry. 

As the adrenaline faded her numbed body stirred awake and her heart slammed loudly in her ears and deafened her as she became aware of a dull burn in her throat, stomach, from between her legs and deep within her, and as she lifted her arms she paled. 

The tunic fell loosely down to her elbows to show red and sickly green bruises that had started to form against her sun kissed skin and Imani broke. She hung her head and sobbed in defeat as Argis returned with a pail of cold water and settled beside her. He lifted his hand to tenderly press the damp cloth against her sweaty forehead but the Breton instead leaned against him, wrapped her arms around his torso, buried her face against his chest, and cried raggedly. 

Argis settled instead for pulling the girl close and held her tight as her cries brought a rise to the hair along his body at the undeniable _anguish_ coming from her. He had wanted to inquire about her seemingly exhausted state the moment she returned and tried and _failed_ to open the heavy Dwemer doors. 

Imani, ever cheerful and ever intent on passing the worry of others off, had smiled and promptly cut him off the moment he had opened the doors. The Nord, despite himself, had stared at the weak sickly little thing. Her skin lacked its normal burnt golden glow and instead was dull and ashy in sickness. Her long ebony hair was flat and listless, lacking the normal luminous shine and waves, and instead settled around her shoulders like a heavy cloak of ink. Even despite her appearance and the heavy bags beneath her wearied eyes the Breton had hugged him with a smile and asked sweetly for a bath. 

He didn't know that Imani had been suffering for weeks now and he will not know. She wouldn't not tell him. She will not tell anybody. The Breton vowed long ago that any negative thing that happened to her in her life would be dealt with alone with no help or pity from others. She thought back to her childhood and sees a younger her, innocent and just starting to figure out life, and remembered the day this promise came to be. 

Still, she longed to tell sometimes despite her resolve, but her fear prevented it. She whimpered against his chest as the Nord gently swept her hair from her neck and placed the cool damp fabric against her clammy skin. 

'…I, if I need to beat anyone up I will.'

Imani sniffled and Argis smiled slightly as she giggled against his chest. 

'No, Argis, I don't think you can beat up sickness I'm afraid.'

His smile turned sheepish as the Breton calmed herself as he continued to drag the rag along her neck. Her eyes lingered on her arm wrapped around the broad chest of the Nord, and her eyes began to water once more as she observed the bruises darkening and marring her further in a vast sea of purple, red, and green. Though she had been dealing with this since the night she defeated Miraak and any time she failed to stay awake this was the first instance where her body was visibly marked with evidence of the rape she was made to endure. 

Why now? Why here? 

The girl finally willed herself to pull away from Argis and made certain the sleeves of her tunic slid down to hide the state of her arms. She didn't want to answer any of his questions when she had so many of her own to seek out answers for. The Nord smiled grimly at her, dunked the cloth and rung it, before returning it to her forehead. 

'I'm sorry…Argis, I'm sorry.'

He frowned and looked down at her in confusion but the look he was met with was pleading with a silent command; Don't ask me. 

Even though that silent command ate at him still further and though he _knew_ without a shadow of a doubt something was resolutely wrong, Argis kept a façade of compliance with a flimsy and less than convincing upturn of his lips and stayed silent. 

\--

The next being to see her in her current state wasn't so easy to pacify with a simple plea, unspoken or uttered, not to inquire. Imani stumbled up the stairs of the keep sluggishly with the simple intention of sneaking a sweet roll from the kitchen as the inhabitants slept. After another unsuccessful try at sleep, thankfully ended as swiftly as the nightmare began by Argis shaking her awake, the Breton decided she needed some fresh air. Her exhaustion thwarted the normal grace and stealth she'd perfected over the years and she scowled as her feet carried her unbalanced towards her goal. 

When from behind her a hand landed purposefully on her shoulder and a soothing voice followed. 

'Up to no good as usual, I see.'

Imani silently cursed her luck and kept her back to him until the Thalmor gave into his curiosity about her lack of acknowledgement and the annoyance that followed quicker than she expected and turned her to face him. 

Her hands shot up and she was hardly aware of the woven fabric of his tunic clutched tight against clammy fingers as she grabbed him. The room spun and she slammed her eyes shut in desperation to quell the unease of her throbbing head and to force her mind to understand that the world hadn't fallen victim to a sudden game of kickball for the divines. 

'What…what in _Oblivion?_ '

At his voice Imani squeezed her eyes shut tighter and hung her head down in humiliated defeat. She had _never_ heard Ondolemar sound so surprised, bewildered; so upset. Her plea to him was wheezing through her throat and past her lips before she could stop it. 

'Please.' She implored him weakly. 

_Please don't ask me what happened. Please don't be concerned. Please don't look at me. And please don't look at me like **that**._

Imani cursed herself for finally daring to raise her eyes to look up at him for at that moment she found herself entranced by his eyes even more so than normal. The angles of his face were sharper in the dim lighting and from the undeniable enmity pulling at them as he caught sight of her bruised wrists connected to her trembling hands still holding his tunic weakly. 

She could only watch in ashamed silence as emotions warred through his eyes and fought for supremacy. His brows knitted closer and closer as his bright green eyes raked over her as he pursued feelings and words that never clicked together to express themselves fully. 

The Breton felt tears prick at her eyes and the fatigue that had long claimed her only amplified their burn. 

It appeared an emotion had won out and the words had been shaped and were at the ready and Imani felt her heart sink in her chest. Her stomach churned in terror at the aspect of having to utter a single word about her pitiful state to anybody but even more so at the thought of speaking a word of it to the Altmer staring down at her. 

His eyes narrowed as they locked onto her darkened wrists once more and she felt him bristle further. Full lips parted with his demand to know what had happened to her ready to cut through the tension that was holding her captive, and swiftly, Imani cut him off before his refined and soothing voice could inquire. 

'Ondolemar…' her own voice was hardly over a whisper and her embarrassment roused the tears to slide from her reddened eyes. 

_Divines, she was so tired._

She couldn't remember the last time she had a fitful nights rest and as Ondolemar pressed himself closer to her she realized she was still holding his tunic in a pathetic excuse of a grip. Imani focused on her fingers and demanded them to release the warm fabric, but they were stiff and lethargic, and it took extreme effort and too much energy to release him. 

When she finally managed it she went to speak once more, to try to step back from him, but her knees buckled beneath the weight of her body that had grown heavier and heavier over the long days of travel and lack of sleep. 

The Altmer caught her before she hit the stone floor.

Imani gave a slight whimper and tears rolled down her cheeks at the fact that she had been reduced to such a state that even a slight sound such as her saying his name drained her. Her vision edged black and she fought with all she had to stay awake. 

Her eyes went wide in anxiety and her breath wheezed sorely through her throat to try to appease her frenzied lungs and she missed the look of absolute distress on Ondolemar's face as his arms curled around her to hold her tight. 

She wheezed out a raspy high pitched sound that was laced with absolute misery. She knew the moment she gave in the monsters would return and she was painfully aware that the rape they would subject her to will now show up and mar and taint her skin with the proof. 

Imani heaved for air as her heart thumped painfully in a frantic tempo. She had to fight; she _had_ to stay awake. 

But…she couldn't. 

The Breton forced herself to meet his eyes and she wanted to implore him then to keep her awake. She'd do anything, he could do anything, so long as she stayed awake! He could read her a story, he could have his way with her, he could interrogate her, he could take her to the brink of death and back, so long as she stayed awake.

Ondolemar finally reacted and for the first time in what felt like her entire life, Imani felt _peace_. 

She was pulled into the strong arms of the Altmer and was soon settled against his chest as he carried her away and if Ondolemar was speaking the girl could hear none of it. She sighed at the thumping sound dancing through her hazy mind. Wanting to hear more of the comforting noise the Breton nuzzled her head closer to it and as sleep overtook her, Imani realized faintly that the sound lulling her gently into peaceful slumber was the beating of his heart.


	3. Quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tenderly, Ondolemar held one of her hands in his and with caution, the mer slowly lifts the sleeve of her tunic upward. His breath hitches in his throat and his eyes widen. The Altmer stares.  
> Animosity like he had ever felt before boiled hot through his veins as he took in the map of black, red, and purple that stained her flesh with the foul proof of most detestable acts that she had undoubtedly been forced to endure. He realized the Breton must have been in a severe amount of discomfort from such injuries and a soft jab of shame pierces his heart.  
> The Altmer knew better, he knew there was more, but his curiosity and outrage won out faster than he'd ever care to admit or acknowledge. He has to see more if only to build his wrath that some unlucky fool would face.

By the time the Commander returned to his quarters the Breton was fast asleep in his arms and by the look of her current state he could easily assume she hadn't rested well in a profound amount of time. If there was one thing the Altmer knew about her, besides her unfair abilities in the art of stealth and her love for sweet rolls that nearly rivaled his own, it was that Imani loved sleep nearly as much as the Nordic pastries. 

That raised just as many red flags as the bruises he couldn't look away from that laced and colored her arms. 

Gingerly, he closed the heavy metal doors behind him and simply rested against the cool alloy as he shuffled her in his arms and silently looked her over. Ondolemar made the same observations as the housecarl; the normally vibrant Breton was dulled. The flesh he could see, past the dark bruises that tarnished a good majority of it, was ashen. Her lips that were ever so slightly parted were dried and cracking. Her jet black hair felt like straw between his fingers as he gently tested the texture with a growing frown. 

The mer slowly walked over to his bed and delicately deposited her within the blankets. Imani gave the smallest coo and snuggled down within them bringing the slightest ghost of a smile to his lips before his agitation and worry flared back once more. 

Tenderly, Ondolemar held one of her hands in his and with caution the mer slowly lifted the sleeve of her tunic upward. His breath hitched in his throat and his eyes widened. The Altmer stared. 

Animosity like he had ever felt before boiled hot through his veins as he took in the map of black, red, and purple that stained her flesh with the foul proof of most detestable acts that she had undoubtedly been forced to endure. He realized the Breton must have been in a severe amount of discomfort from such injuries and a soft jab of shame pierced his heart. 

The Altmer knew better, he knew there was more, but his curiosity and outrage won out faster than he'd ever care to admit or acknowledge. He had to see more if only to build his wrath that some unlucky fool would face. 

His teeth grit and he dared to pull the fabric higher and no matter how badly he wanted to take his eyes away he couldn't. The bruises were not in the distinct shape of hands nor were they from battle. Seeing them from a distance Ondolemar would have assumed the Breton had been bound much too tightly with ropes…

Had it not been for the disturbingly prominent rings scattered within the lines. 

A simple squabble with a squid or octopus wouldn't have left Imani looking as rough and defeated as she appeared. The elf sneered in outrage. This wasn't the work of a sea creature. 

_"I'm going to Solstheim to take care of this Miraak pest." She'd mumbled against his chest as she lingered in the haze of release. "Hopefully that nasty blob doesn't take too much offence to the ass handing I'm planning on serving out."_

It would appear Hermaeus Mora had taken offense. The Daedra had taken his rage out on her, clearly, but what Ondolemar didn't understand was _why_ the Breton hadn't healed herself. If she had, why then didn't the evidence fade in the weeks time it would have taken her to return back to Markarth?

His frown cut deeper between his brows as he bunched the fabric at her hip and slid it upward beneath his fingers to expose more and more proof of the Daedra's torment upon her flesh. Ondolemar's heart clenched painfully in his chest as he observed her. 

If she couldn't heal herself then he'd be the one to help her. The simple act of restoring her body and easing her pain brought a sense of purpose to the otherwise upset mer. In this situation he was powerless to have stopped this from happening to the human and his disgust and resentment scalded hot in his soul. 

He pressed his palm firmly against her hip and from beneath his breath began to mutter. The words grew louder but didn't dare increase them past a whisper as he sang the lullaby his mother had sang to him when he was young. Her skin glowed golden with his magick and with a smile, small as it was, Ondolemar watched her bruises fade. 

He had his questions and he would get his answers but for now as he looked upon her healed skin and observed the smile that had curled her lips as she moved a bit more languidly against the pillows and bedding he found those answers would come in time. For now, Ondolemar had reinstated his authority and that was his role as being a protector was still intact. 

The elf eased himself beside her and pulled her into his arms. Placing a lingering kiss against her forehead Ondolemar nuzzled her and spoke gently to the sleeping Breton as he felt his own fatigue pull at his senses. 

'Sleep well, Imani.'

\---

_Warmth enveloped her in comfort so familiar, and yet so **alien** , it brought an ache to her heart. She smiled and opened her eyes to be met with his looking down at her. Imani found herself smiling as the elf silently looked her over curiously. The flutter within her heart that stirred only when he was near her flared and for a second she was normal again._

_'Dollie.'_

_The slightest crinkle in his nose appeared at her nickname for him but his annoyance didn't meet his eyes. She giggled as he forwent the sneer he so normally sported and instead the Altmer pulled her tighter against his nude body. Imani found she didn't care to inquire as to why she was in the same state of undress as she curled up against him._

_'I missed you.'_

_His lips brushed against her forehead in acknowledgement and the mer remained silent and she did the same. For long peaceful moments they simply held each other close as the Breton basked in the warmth of his embrace. His scent caressed her senses further as she nuzzled her head against his chest and sighed. His fingers skirted softly over her flesh and for a moment Imani found a lump form in her throat at how foreign this affection felt._

_As she moved against his hold, as she soaked in the sensations of the silken linens, his warmth, and inhaled the spicy scent edged with leather that was distinctly Ondolemar was when the luxurious haze dissipated._

_A howl, demonic and ireful, hollow as if bellowed from a realm millions of miles away and at the same time perilously **close** to the two sounded. Ubiquitous the sound brought a stiffening to her spine and a cry from her throat. The Breton clung to Ondolemar as tears pricked at her eyes and the serenity she had felt fled from her and yet, even at the clear danger bearing down on them, the Altmer didn't flinch. _

_The chanting began. Miraak, Hermaeus, even the Seekers and various other creatures called to her. Their voices drew revulsion within her mind. Their evil intentions and unabashed lust echoing clearly in their words._

_"Return. Return. Return."_

_The Altmer tightened his hold on her and sighed as if bored. Ondolemar rubbed her back gingerly, buried his face within her wild black locks, and placed a lingering kiss a top her head. Imani gasped as a shock like electric shot through her. It didn't harm her, it didn't cause her further dismay, it only stole away her attention from her fears and placed it back solely on the High Elf._

_She looked up at him then and felt herself relax at the gentleness housed within his features as he calmly spoke to her as if the monsters existed not._

_'Sleep well, Imani.'_

_At his words the blinding fear and crippling apprehension disappeared. The snarls and roars of outraged beasts faded as sleep pulled at her conscious. Within her very soul her own voice chanted._

_At first a hardly noticeable whisper but soon as the darkness overwhelmed her dream the words became understandable and with a smile as he nuzzled her, the Breton let herself slip back into the warmth and the calm that Hermaeus and Miraak had stolen away._

_'Safe. Safe here. Safe now. Safe in his arms.'_


	4. Thank You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'I will have your explanation.'
> 
> Imani felt her stomach knot slightly at the demanding presence that had invaded the space. It was only a matter of time…and if there were anyone that _had_ any right to know it was Ondolemar. But she hedged further. He couldn't know, at least not right now.
> 
> 'After,' she pressed her lips against the corner of his mouth gently in an attempt to pacify him for now. 'I return.' She looked at him silently as he stared down at her and in his eyes she could see emotions fighting to gain authority. 'I promise.

The warmth of his embrace encompassed her and his gentle humming brought a smile across her lips. Her eyes fluttered open and she nuzzled her head against the leather at his chest. Imani's smile only grew as his hold on her became the slightest bit tighter and a gentle rub to her back accompanied it. 

She took in her surroundings and frowned as she realized that she was in his quarters. The gentle scent of leather mixed with hints of brandy and myrrh that was distinctly Ondolemar caressed her giving her peace for a moment more. 

'…awake, Breton?'

It was then that her heart clenched and the serenity was shattered. Though soft his voice was heavy with concentrated request. Swallowing thickly and steeling herself for the pain that she knew would accompany her movements, Imani sighed, and relented to the unavoidable. 

'Yes…I'm…'

_Sorry_

She trailed off and with a quivering finger gently traced the edges of his robes across his broad chest and waited. Ondolemar wasn't known for dropping the subject and there was no doubt a torrent of inquiry dammed up behind his lips. 

'I wondered if you ever would. I was starting to think you at your end.'

She frowned. 

'Why's that?'

A genteel little snort came from above her and Imani relaxed further as his fingers skirted along her hip. 

'You've slept for two days.'

At that her head snapped up and Imani looked at him in shock. Amusement pulled at the corner of his lips as she gaped at him. Surely she hadn't heard him right. The entertained gleam in his eyes told her she had. 

'I… _two_?'

'You woke up yesterday morning and relieved yourself…' her cheeks lit in a blush as he trailed off, smirked at some memory she didn't share, and continued. 'where you then fell asleep on the floo-'

Imani buried her face against his robes and groaned in embarrassment. 

'Thankfully, Cerulion found you quickly and returned you back to bed.'

Silence once more lingered and unbeknownst to the other they both worried over how to continue on. Imani didn't want to speak of the events that brought her to fall in weakness in his presence. She could recall vaguely him catching her before she made it to the kitchen and sighed. 

'Why did you let me stay here?'

'It wouldn't do for a superiorly bred mer such as myself to be witnessed carrying a Breton through the streets of Markarth in such a state at such a late hour. My role is to enforce the ban of Talos worship not return a passed out human back to her home.'

Imani rolled her eyes. 

'How generous of you then.'

'Quite so. Now,' Ondolemar untangled himself from her and rose from the bed. Smoothing his robes the mer faced her and Imani readied herself for the unrelenting questions and the anxiety that would no doubt accompany them. 'would you care to explain why you didn't heal yourself after your little skirmish with Hermaeus Mora?'

It was then as the Breton went to tell him with an angry glare and hurt pride that no amount of her magick or potions would remove the bruises that she became aware that she didn't feel any pain. The anger dropped off her features to be replaced with bewilderment. She sat up swiftly and yanked the fabric of her robes away from her arm. 

'…that,' she clawed at the fabric that donned her other arm. Tears lined her eyes as she gazed upon her flesh, free from any sign of her encounters with the Daedra, and stared in disbelief. 'that's _impossible._ '

The Altmer silently watched her as the tears spilled over and she looked at him stupefied. His head cocked slightly and he frowned. 

'Do you mean to tell me that you had tried to heal yourself and it proved ineffective?'

She blinked, lifted a shaky hand to wipe away her tears, and nodded her head in affirmation. At this Ondolemar's frown cut a bit deeper between his brows. He had healed her without issue. Why then had her magick proven void?

'Imani,' he returned himself to the bed and sat on the edge. The astonishment and nihilism that adorned her features vanished swiftly and in place came distress. The human edged away from him and he could _feel_ her unease. Ondolemar sighed and prepared himself for whatever she would tell him. 'what happened?'

Her immediate reaction was to tell him "nothing". She wanted desperately to say so if only to pull him off the situation she'd been forced to face. The Breton didn't want him, her lover, her friend, to know what she had been subjected to. She didn't want him to know that she was at the mercy of a force that made her weak and that took any hope of defeating it away with every debilitating rape he enforced upon her. 

The tears lined her eyes once more and she started to shake. She didn't want Ondolemar to know that she was powerless to stop it from happening. She was the Dragonborn; the savior of Nirn, a little woman that housed the soul of a dragon and could shout them down from the sky above to slay them, and yet had been reduced to a frail, incapable, _victim_. 

'I…'

What could she tell him? She met his gaze and held it as tears slid down her face once more. A lump tightened her throat and she found it harder to breathe beneath his worried but inquisitive green gaze. His lips tugged down and his eyes narrowed and with a simple raise of his hand he beckoned her to him. 

The Breton obeyed without a second thought. The comfort of his embrace was affection she'd felt she'd forgotten and she savored it despite the fact that she _would_ end up telling him. She wrapped her arms around him and tried to fight off her tears. For now she'd cling to the security the Commander had given her because in her heart she had the feeling that the minute she left his presence they'd be back. 

After a while spent in lingering silence the mer pushed her back and looked down at her. Imani readied herself, face flushing slightly at the look held in his eyes, and shrank back. His hand rose and soft fingers tenderly traced along her jaw as a ghost of a smile threatened his lips. His mouth opened and he began to speak when a knock came against the door. 

Imani pulled back and Ondolemar glared at the guard as he entered. 

'Commander si-'

'Do you bring any information on the imperative matter at hand?'

His guard winced at the irritation wrapped in the question and the look Ondolemar was currently giving him. Imani looked at him with a small smile that shown no harm and the mer frowned as he continued to address his superior. 

'No, sir, I apologize. Cerulion and I are still investigating that matter.'

'Then why are you here, Naradil?'

Naradil cleared his throat and nodded toward the Breton. 

'She's been requested by the Jarl and his court. He has a task for her.'

Ondolemar huffed out a long sigh and waved his hand dismissively. 

'Tell the Jarl she shall be there shortly. Return to your work.'

Naradil nodded his head respectfully and left swiftly. Imani sighed softly and went to stand when she was snatched back by a strong grip on her arm. She was turned and as she went to gasp his lips caught hers in a demanding kiss. Imani gripped at his arms and whimpered when his tongue traced hot across her lower lip beckoning entrance to which she granted. 

The mer proved once more to be more than effective at ridding her from her worries as they held fast to each other. Their kisses were hungry as their depravity shown through them. Ondolemar pulled back and looked down at her with the same irritation Naradil had been subjected to. 

'I still expect to know what happened to you.'

Her lips pulled into a tight line as she studied him with a frown. 

'I know you expect it but I'd rather not tell you.'

'I don't care what you'd rather not do,' he leaned forward and gave her a hard look. He had to know why she couldn't heal herself from the acts forced upon her. 'I will have your explanation.'

Imani felt her stomach knot slightly at the demanding presence that had invaded the space. It was only a matter of time…and if there were anyone that _had_ any right to know it was Ondolemar. But she hedged further. He couldn't know, at least not right now.

'After,' she pressed her lips against the corner of his mouth gently in an attempt to pacify him for now. 'I return.' She looked at him silently as he stared down at her and in his eyes she could see emotions fighting to gain authority. 'I promise.' 

That seemed to lull him. He gave a short nod and kissed her gently. 

'Go on then, the Jarl requests your presence.'

Imani nodded and gave him a soft smile as she rose up. She righted her robes and paused at the door. 

'Dollie,' she could feel his slight little sneer of distaste for the nickname but nonetheless he acknowledged her with a soft hum. 'thank you…for not ruining your reputation.'

At this the Altmer snorted and she cocked her head back to look at him with a wry smile. 

'Go, Breton. I have paperwork to attend to.'

Though the exchange portrayed dismissive indifference on his part she felt her lips tug upward in a sincere smile as he looked at her. The sneer was in place as expected, slight as it was, but within his eyes the words left unspoken called out to her plainly. 

_'You're welcome, Imani.'_

\----

'The Forsworn have moved within the hills yet again. They have slain three caravans this week alone. See to it that they are given the same hospitality.'

Imani's lips thinned at the look that accompanied the command. Jarl Igmund's brown eyes lingered on her, cool and aloof, before he sniffed and glanced away as if bored. Raerek handed her a parchment that held the location of the Forsworn camp she was to wipe out. 

She swallowed and smiled stiffly at Raerek as she took it. 

'It'll be dealt with.'

Faleen offered her a slight little smile as she addressed the Thane. 

'I'm happy to hear and see that you're in better shape than you were in when you arrived the other day. It must've been some trip.'

Imani faltered minutely and Igmund set his eyes back on her. The Breton stammered out a small sound of uncertainty. What could she say? She smiled back at the Redguard and chose her words carefully. 

'It was. That ship ride is no joke. Not to mention the ever lingering winter of Skyrim's north. Exhausting to say the least.'

'But you fought Miraak on Solsthiem? Were you victorious?'

Igmund inched forward and really scrutinized her and Imani found herself standing with her mouth opened dumbly for a second. 'Ah,' she smiled at Faleen and offered her feigned happiness to the Nord as well, sating him if only slightly. 'I was, actually. It was…something that I'll never forget.'

Within the back of her mind a voice came. Sudden and laced in undeniable ire, Miraak spoke, and Imani found herself bowing respectfully to the Jarl and excusing herself quickly. By the time she reached the doors to the keep the sense of dread returned tenfold and she quickly pressed by the guards avoiding their stares from beneath their iron helmets. 

_'You will never forget. You will never escape.'_

She ran to her home, equipped her armor and weapons, and only gave heed to Argis' worry with a tight smile and a reassuring statement that even she knew was full of holes. The Breton gave the housecarl a tight hug and prayed he couldn't feel her heart hammering away at her ribs as she told him she'd be back soon. 

_'You ensnared me and threw me to the one I wanted to remove myself from.'_

As she navigated through the winding stairs down to the market below Imani walked briskly through the drizzle and stepped out of the gates. Fetching the parchment she looked at the location and glared at the darkening horizon. 

'You trapped yourself. You made your own mistake!'

Thunder rolled in the distance and a very real chill shot down her spine as the air dropped in temperature around her. The smell of acid mingled in the petrichor and without hesitation she bolted for the hillsides. Miraak called to her in the back of her mind once more and sent another wave of turmoil through her racing mind and aching heart. 

_"As did you, Dovahkiin."_


	5. Fallen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'What business do you have here?'
> 
> The stranger sucked in a shaken breath and Ondolemar's heart faltered within his chest at his reply. 
> 
> 'M-my Jarl! Your thane! She…she has fallen!'

The rest of that evening proved to be irritatingly torpid and as Ondolemar paced his room he found his mood sour more and more with every minute that seemed to linger too long for his tastes. Naradil and Cerulion had returned earlier that evening with a scant amount of information but information nonetheless. 

Ondolemar had listened carefully to their findings and took their notes from them as he dismissed them. This wasn't a partial soul trap like he had first mused, at least their message proved to defy that thought, but this was still something wicked and dark. The Altmer growled lowly and shot a glare at the innocent parchment sitting unrolled upon his desk. 

This was still something out of his control and he _**despised**_ it. He did, however, learn of the names of two fellow mer that could possibly help him right the wrong done to the Breton and therefore done to him as his power was ripped from him as it was from her. 

Grinding his teeth ever so slightly in anger that he had to reach out for a solution to a problem still unknown, Ondolemar sat, picked up his quill, and dipped it in the pot of ink. He glanced over the first of two names and the information that came with it and placed the ink to paper. 

_Erandur,_

_I, Ondolemar, Justiciar Commander of the Thalmor, write to you in regard to your old deity of worship, Vaermina._

\----

 

The smell of burning leather and singed herbs rose up to mix with the stench of blood and rot as she crept closer to the camp. Imani's nose scrunched at the rancid stench and silently she drew her bow back to aim her ebony arrow at the back of the forager.

A new gust of wind amplified the stench of the camp and the Breton found her eyes watering at the rancid smell smothered her nostrils. Her bow wobbled in her grip and the draw went slightly lax as she fought down the urge to gag. She would never understand how these Bretons lived this way, mingling in among piles of decomposing corpses and animals, foul witches, and possession of wicked magick. 

They were blinded just as she was in the next second. The dark sky above flashed bright with lightening and bathed the world around her in the ghastly light and Imani realized just how out numbered she was. The darkness coated them once more in its pitch veil and the thunder boomed loudly. Slowly she lowered her bow. 

This wasn't any little group. If anything this camp housed at least twenty of the feral humans and as she glanced up the hill she noted the twisted body of a Hag wandering about. She cursed beneath her breath and glared at them through the rain that had started up. 

She needed to regroup and find a place out of the rain, it had started to-

Imani paled. 

Incipient at first the rain had started to _burn_ her exposed flesh like…acid. A growl cut through the air one would mistake for thunder had it not been for the daedric groaning that accompanied it. Her head went light with terror and a lump formed in the back of her throat. 

'No…'

In the darkness, in the middle of the camp, the Forsworn cried out and in the flickering light from various flames and torches she saw _him_. 

'You can't escape.'

Imani's heart hammered against her chest and her lungs felt squeezed by some invisible vice grip. The first forager to reach him swiftly met her end with a scream that sent a hard shiver through the nearly hyperventilating Breton hidden on the hillside. 

With a purposeful stride the slain Dragonborn approached her and any reachmen that dared to approach his path were dispatched with no hesitation. Miraak slaughtered the feral Bretons, the very people she held relation to through blood, with little effort. Even the hag fell with a shrill cry that sent the hair along her body to rise and the knot in her stomach to tighten in distressing nausea. 

'You thought yourself safe didn't you?'

She had stumbled to her feet and stared in wide eyed horror as she attempted to back away. 

'You thought that pathetic Altmer would keep you safe?'

Imani screamed loudly and thrashed against the clawed hold on her arms. Her bow clattered to the ground and the Seekers growled at her sides and through her panic she felt the sting of acid grow from the clouds above raining down on her. 

A deafening crash of thunder then sent her heart into such a frantic tempo the girl found herself idly giving the thought of a heart attack a warm welcome indeed when from the sky came a sight that sent her previously racing heart to favoring skips that stole her breath away. 

'No…no…n-no!' Imani could scarcely force the words from her throat as the eyes flooded across the sky bringing with them the tentacles that belonged to the _monster_. A growl ripped across the night breeze and lightening flashed again and Imani, having been so focused on Hermaeus, screeched out a fearful sound when a hand curled around her neck. 

The Breton looked at Miraak through eyes blinded by tears as she sucked desperately for air that had once again evaded her lungs that desperately sought it. She felt her armor being eaten away and had taken to mindlessly begging as she stared at his masked face. 

'Dragonborn, I knew you were weak.' Miraak's free hand reached up and caught the edge of his mask. 'Listen to you _beg_ as if you were no different than the lowly human you are.' The gold of his mask was lifted and Imani choked as his grip on her throat tightened worryingly. 

His face was deathly alabaster, skin pulled tight against his bone, features shrunken and dry from death. She was vaguely aware of the tentacles that had joined the clawed hands of the Seekers. Imani was galvanized under his stare. 

Eyes blacker than the deepest pits of Oblivion mirrored her terrified image back to her and with a cruel smile curling his lips, Miraak spoke once more. 

'He cannot save you now.'

Imani crashed to the ground and screamed out in agony as she fought against them. Their claws tore at her flesh and the acid seared her to the bone. She screamed for mercy until her throat was raw but their hold on her only tightened and the burn only intensified. 

'Amazing how much she struggles.'

He smirked as he looked at his accomplice as the ropes were laced tighter around her arms and legs that was soon accompanied by a burst of paralysis. The Breton cried out and with a curse hissed between his teeth, the Dunmer shoved the gag into her mouth. Imani convulsed and her body shook as if exposed to the north winds. 

The staff was aimed at her and with a smile though the Breton didn't see him. She didn't see him nor his helper, no, she still saw the Seekers, the Daedra above, and the monstrosity she had defeated before her. She didn't see the ropes that held her, she didn't know the burn across her body was magicka, she didn't know her nightmares were being _collected_.

She didn't know that she had been followed ruthlessly across the sea and into Skyrim.

He leaned down and her eyes widened. He spoke and in her sight it was the unmasked dispatched Dragonborn that did. He smiled and called the magic in the staff forward. 

'He cannot save you, _Imani._ '

\----

 

Two days later found Ondolemar pacing restlessly before the throne as per his normal routine when a man rushed into the room and made his way hastily up the stairs. Faleen blocked his path, hand curled tight around the handle of her sword, an distrustful glare adorning her features. The Altmer frowned as he turned and made his way back slowly. Duty called for his overhearing of new comers. 

The nauseous tingle that formed in his stomach at the sight of him told him something was wrong. That Imani's name was about to be mentioned...he _knew_ in his heart that the appearance of this person had to do with her. The Commander paused just behind him and frowned as the feeling of dread only seemed to magnify. Faleen caught his gaze briefly before speaking to the panting human. 

'What business do you have here?'

The stranger sucked in a shaken breath and Ondolemar's heart faltered within his chest at his reply. 

'M-my Jarl! Your thane! She…she has fallen!'


	6. Secure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Where is she?'
> 
> Ondolemar had always been straightforward and normally Argis would snarl and growl out some half hearted insult to the snooty Altmer but now was different. Ondolemar looked a bit weathered himself and if Argis looked a little closer he could see the fine cracks in the hastily placed façade of arrogance the elf had placed upon his features. Ondolemar, Justiciar Commander of Markarth, was _scared_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mainly all you need to know about this chapter is it holds a lot of tension mainly around a superiorly bred mer and a protective Nord housecarl. There is also a realization that the monsters hurting her are very much worried about that superiorly bred mer and do **not** like him at all. 
> 
> Larysa belongs to SoftlyTea.

Argis could recall well the times in his life where he genuinely worried. Interestingly enough at least a quarter of those times involved the Breton thane. Argis, for his worth, was a generally laid back Nord. He enjoyed the simpler things life had to offer; a nice warm fire, a cool mug of mead, and from time to time a good old fashioned brawl to get the blood flowing after enjoying that mug of mead before a nice warm fire. 

Really his life had been fairly easy and simple before the little Breton whirlwind known only as _I_ stumbled into Markarth on a dreary afternoon none more than a few months back. By the end of that month he'd been called to Jarl's throne and before he knew it he played the roll of housecarl to a Breton with no known name, possibly Forsworn herself, and the _Dragonborn_ if one really enjoyed giving rumors and idle gossip over city food stands the time of day. 

It didn't take long for him to grow attached to the Breton, in fact it had taken a whole two days tops of her sweet smile and quick wit to utterly break him without him even realizing, and that's where the concern began. Not with anything she did in particular but rather with _whom_ she enjoyed the company of. 

Argis never missed the lingering glances the pompous Thalmor had given the thane when she'd been called to the Mournful Throne. He caught the small blushes she tried hard to will away when Ondolemar was near and the smiles that told all that she had a secret that all of Skyrim practically knew. The thane of the Reach was involved with a blasted elf, a Thalmor, the very thing that sought to rid of Nirn of humans. 

Oh the Nord had tried to intervene and to warn her that Ondolemar was trouble if he'd ever seen it. But like a stubborn maiden fixated on her first love the Breton was smitten. Months followed with random visits of the snide Thalmor to her home and nights where she'd tried so hard to creep back into her home and into her bed after an evening spent in his company. 

The doors sounded with three loud slams and Argis was pulled from his task at hand. Casting a worried glance to the weakly writhing girl the Nord stumbled to his numb feet and ran for the Dwemer doors. He didn't hesitate when he grabbed the smooth metal to pull it open, he knew what stood on the other side, and with fleeting strength and a shaken exhale he managed to pry the heavy metal toward him. 

'Where is she?'

Ondolemar had always been straightforward and normally Argis would snarl and growl out some half hearted insult to the snooty Altmer but now was different. Ondolemar looked a bit weathered himself and if Argis looked a little closer he could see the fine cracks in the hastily placed façade of arrogance the elf had placed upon his features. Ondolemar, Justiciar Commander of Markarth, was _scared_. 

\---

'Erandur?'

The Dunmer glanced up from the book before him and raised a curious brow as Larysa approached him. 

'Yes, love?'

'You have a letter…' he frowned as she trailed off and hesitantly held out the folded envelope and it only took a quick glace of the seal for him to bristle and his frown to cut a bit deeper into his features. He took it from her and stared at it to make sure he was seeing this correctly. 

'The Aldmeri Dominion?'

Larysa crossed her arms across her lithe waist and rubbed at them as her amber eyes darted away. Erandur smiled gently and placed the letter down on his desk as he stood. Larysa had had more than enough history with the Dominion for him to understand her discomfort of the very mention of the Thalmor. 

'Come,' the Dunmer pulled the Altmer against him and held her tight. 'Lets go get some tea. I'm sure it's nothing, dear.' 

Erandur smiled a bit more at the dubious look that crossed her face as he pulled away. He didn't believe that line himself and some part of him felt guilty for forcing out the lie. Where the Thalmor and anything of association was concerned it was _always_ something. Giving the folded parchment one final glance he lead her from the room and back toward the warmth and comfort and _air_ of the temple they inhabited because Mara's mercy that one little slip of paper had removed such things from that room. 

\----

Argis returned to her bedside and crossed his arms at the slight sneer thrown at him from the pointy eared visitor knelt at her side. It had been an unfair stand off for hours now; Ondolemar barking out commands, Argis begrudgingly obeying, and the one thing at the center of their worries whimpering and shivering beneath her blankets as she dreamt. She was flushed with fever, her matted black hair stuck to her forehead, and before Ondolemar had slammed the door in his face as the elf changed her from the robe the stranger had returned her in Argis _swore_ he saw her limbs lined black and purple. 

'Your presence isn't needed here.'

Ah, so the elf wanted to play this again. 

Argis steeled himself and leaned idly against the wall at his back, not missing the expansion of Ondolemar's sneer, before the mer returned his venomous gaze back to the thane and pressed the rag back against her neck. From his angle the Nord saw the elfs expression lighten and though Ondolemar tried to keep his features trained not even he could hide the worry that knit his brows and tightened his lips. His eyes were busy as he roved them around her face, pupils widening at every little noise and movement she made, and though he knew he'd regret it, Argis regarded him. 

'You say my presence isn't needed, elf.' Ondolemar sent the Nord a look of warning that was promptly ignored. 'I can't help but wonder why you feel like yours is needed at all.'

'You cannot seem to grasp the fact that you are wasted space here can you, Nord? Unlike you, I am able to help your little thane where as you are simply halting any chance of this happening. Now,' the mer looked at the fuming Nord and pointed sharply to the door. 'Leave so I may right what has unfortunately come upon her.'

'By Talos I won't!' Argis took one step forward and pointed accusingly at the Thalmor. 'How do you know anything you do will help I? I'm not leaving you alone with her. Not a chance!' 

For a tense moment it was silent until Ondolemar hefted out a long sigh and slowly rose to his feet. As the elf's hawk-like gaze locked onto him Argis became painfully aware of the words he'd just spoken. The hair stood on the back of his neck and he suddenly found himself to be but a mouse under the sights of a predator. 

'Would you care to repeat that?'

'I…I,' Argis glowered at the smugness that had crept onto the sharp lines of Ondolemar's features. 'Y-you heard me.'

'Indeed I did.' A smile curled the elfs lips and it did nothing to quell the rabbit fast rate of Argis' heart. 

He didn't dare move as Ondolemar placed the rag back in the bowl and like a sabre cat circling its prey moved with slow grace around the bed. Argis couldn't figure out what scared him more; fighting the Altmer and losing, or the more asinine thought of fighting the Altmer and coming out victorious. I would never forgive him if any harm was brought upon Ondolemar and as said elf stood before him now, a bright gleam of knowing lighting his eyes within the clear malice the Commander held darkly for the words the Nord had so stupidly spoken, Argis knew there was no way he'd win this regardless. 

'By whom will you not vacate this home by?'

'I said you heard me.'

A crinkle creased Ondolemar's nose as the Nord glared back up at him. The smile was back on his full lips, showing straight white teeth with those slightly pointed eye teeth mer were known for that Argis would give anything to punch out, and as the thane gave a loud whimper the Altmer moved with speed that Argis never expected. 

'I will give you one more chance, _fool_ , leave and I may over look your confession.' The fool in question clawed against the forearm that had promptly pinned him to the unforgiving stone at his back by the throat and felt his face flush as he tried to draw in air to sate his hammering heart. Sweat started to seep from his pores as Ondolemar looked down his nose at the human in disgust. Argis tried to shove audible words past his lips and finally in desperation for air he managed only to give one short nod of his head. As quickly as the Thalmor's arm had appeared it was gone leaving the housecarl to double over in a fit of coughs. 

'I'm surprised to see there is some sense in that thick skull after all. Now, leave.'

Argis snarled a scratchy sound as he slowly made his way for the door, eyes not leaving Ondolemar for a single second as the damned elf settled back at I's side and returned the look he received from the Nord sourly. He gathered enough air back into his lungs and steeled his voice as best he was able as he addressed the elf with a heavy threat. 

'If you hurt her…so help me-'

'Talos, I assume?'

'Watch your damned tongue, elf! I ain't leaving this home with you in it! Try anything and you'll regret it you damned snake, I swear it.'

At this Ondolemar snorted and rolled his eyes bringing another bought of anger searing hot through Argis' stomach. When the elfs bright eyes landed back on him the Nord found himself the slightest bit confused at the look he was unable to place etched along Ondolemar's sharp features. 

'Not that you'd ever be able to defeat me, Nord, but…' The elf paused and his jaw clenched as he mulled over his response unspoken. 'You have to believe me when I tell you that _I_ can aid her.'

'I don't.'

'If I couldn't I wouldn't be here.'

'How? How can you do anything? Your fancy magick won't work! She already tried to heal herself with her own restoration spells and it didn't work.'

The air seemed to be sucked from the room as the mer seemed to glare right through Argis. 

'And when did it not work?'

'When she returned last week.' Argis sighed as he remembered back to that night she'd returned from the long long journey she'd been on to defeat Miraak. How she had tried to hide her arms from his view. He remembered the guilt he felt when he'd kept his word and didn't speak more about it. He knew he should've, he was charged to protect her, and yet his own fear of upsetting her kept his tongue behind his teeth, and now, now he'd just let it loose to the one person that had no business there in the first place. 

'I…I saw her arms. When I left the room the second time I didn't go far. I heard her magick and I heard her…' Argis looked at the defeated little Breton sadly. 'I heard her cry. She tried hard to hide it but I'd already saw.' His eyes slid back over to Ondolemar. 'Just like you tried to hide them earlier when you…' No. He couldn’t lose his temper now. Especially as the Thalmor pulled his brows together in a tight frown and gave him a silent warning not to push his luck. 

'I see.' The Altmers voice was low and did nothing to hide his distaste for the admission the Nord had just spoken. 

'I don't know what happened to her. It… _they_ looked like-'

'Tentacles.'

Argis blinked. So that's where I had gone on her quest to "get some air". He frowned and crossed his arms across his chest. Damned elf. Of course the Breton had run to him.

'So you know all about it I guess.'

'I know that someone is rather displeased with the little Dragonborn and that they come to her in her sleep.'

'If they attack her when she sleeps how do you think you'll help her?'

Ondolemar sent him an annoyed look and for a moment it looked as if some biting reply was about to be tossed at the Nord when in stead in the wake of venomous arrogance came instead a low desperation as I whimpered and writhed beneath the furs. 

'Remove yourself, Argis.'

The Nords brows nearly hit his hair line. Though rude still, that single sentence had been the nicest words Ondolemar had ever spoken to him, let alone the elf had actually used the decency to say _his name_. Clearly the Thalmor did know more than Argis cared to admit and with a final nervous glance at his thane and a harder one at the Altmer he resigned himself to do the one thing he never thought he'd do: trust Ondolemar.

 

\----

 

_'Please…please NO!'_

_The seeker growled out a wicked little sound as Imani bolted back from its clawed hand. Her heart ached in her chest and she sobbed as they taunted her. Their anger had only seemed to grow more and more through the long hours. They had used her brutally in the hills of the Reach but then it was as if someone had thrown up an invisible ward. They could reach out to her but they couldn't _touch_ her. With every swipe and every rush for her their ire grew and with it her own fear. _

_'Please. Please just let me wake up.'_

_From his spot behind her Miraak snorted and the Breton spun and stumbled on her feet. The Dragonborn glared down at her with a hateful sneer and Imani whimpered as he paced the invisible barrier none could see but all could detect._

_'You will _never_ escape this torment.'_

_The seekers growled all around her in agreement as they eyed her._

_'That Thalmor cannot save you.'_

_Imani managed to put a weak frown on her features and locked her eyes with the frustrated black pits glaring back at her. Something within his voice brought her rational mind out of the haze of terror she'd been trapped in. The Breton noticed his words had been rushed ever so slightly and the pitch was a hint higher. As if their time was nearing the end finally…as if the monster was…_

_'Are you afraid of him?'_

_Miraak's lips pulled back into a terrifyingly furious sneer. Imani, despite her troubled situation, noticed something else change in that moment. The seekers moved around her and grabbed at her rabidly but the Breton kept her attention trained on the dispatched Nord whom was growing more and more unstable by the second. Slowly she cocked her head and noticed the world around her begin to darken._

_'I am not afraid of him, fool!'_

_Imani blinked and wiped her face with the back of her bloody hand. When she looked at him again a small smile pulled at her lips that did nothing but fuel the irate beasts around her as they frantically tried to get at her. Miraak bristled and his face contorted to that of a true demonic beast and as they _finally_ began to fade away he opened his mouth. _

_Where his dark promises and wicked threats should have been came instead a gentle voice from all around her. Light spilled over the darkness and they vanished leaving Imani hovering in a warmth that seemed to encamp all around her in a soft hold._

_'Imani. Wake up. It's ok, Breton.'_

 

Her eyes cracked opened slowly and she found herself beneath the worried gaze of Ondolemar. His thumb traced along her cheek timidly and against her arm she felt his magick slowly strengthening her battered body. The weight of what she'd endured hit her at once and her eyes lined with tears. He offered her a small smile and his voice trembled ever so slightly in relief as he whispered to her. 

'It's ok, it's ok now.'

The girl sucked in a ragged breath and slammed her eyes shut as the elf climbed up onto her bed and pulled her against him. Imani clung to him as she buried her face against the silky fabric of his tunic and savored the peace that came with his embrace, the calm that lulled her frantic mind, and the emotion left unspoken that rang out loud enough that she was rendered weaker than she would ever be at the mercy of the monsters. 

'I'm here. I'm here, Imani. You're alright.'

_I will right what has happened, Imani. I swear it._

He nuzzled the top of her head and smiled sadly as she chanted her gratefulness through broken sobs and sharp gasps. 

'Thank you. Thank you. Ondolemar, thank you.' 

_I know you can. I know you will. Thank you._


	7. Reminders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Priest of Mara is forced to see that his work isn't done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Larysa is owned by Softlytea.

He had lost count of the number of times he'd re-read the elegantly written missive before him. Despite the heaviness tugging at his eyes and the muzzy feeling of tiredness aching beneath his brows he couldn't shake the prickling needle like feeling of dread that had managed to engulf him like some sort of unseen cocoon. 

Over and over, Erandur read the words the Thalmor-Ondolemar-had written, and the more he did the more the feeling grew. Memories spawned from the emotions battling beneath his narrowed eyes. Slowly, the parchment began to give against the curl of his fingers. Deeper and deeper his frown grew, the sound of the paper crunching beneath his fist going amiss by the trembling Dunmer. 

Bitterness pursed his lips tight. 

Was this some new punishment for a past he had tried so hard to release himself from? Had he truly not found sanctuary in Mara's embrace but rather had blindly thought himself forgiven for deeds committed when he was younger and so stupidly naïve?

 

 _My findings suggest that you were once a loyal follower of Vaermina. While this is most abhorrent yet expected of a lesser race, I find myself in an equally unacceptable position. Reaching out to one with a past such as yours is, perhaps, the only way to shed light and bring aid to what afflicts this Breton woman is truly beneath my stature. However, I am not a mer that is so proud that I will stand by and allow those who have some value to me and my cause to suffer whilst I attempt to figure the workings of the unknown out on my own accord._

_I expect your reply within the week. Failure to comply will be most unwise on your part, Priest of Mara. If, however, you decide to bring your knowledge to me, you will find me in Markarth. Be it in person or through parchment I will gain my information._

_The choice is yours to make._

_-Ondolemar  
Justiciar Commander of Markarth._

 

Overlooking the insults to his character was a bit harder than it normally would've been. Erandur knew how the Aldmeri Dominion saw the world and those who inhabited it. He was nothing but a piece to Ondolemar's puzzle. Question was would he be the piece that fit into the problem? Or, would he be apart of the solution? 

He gave a long sigh through his nose and dropped the crumpled paper against the wood of his desk. Sitting back and crossing his arms he glared up at the small statute of Mara. So what was it? Had he been mislead all along?

'I have dedicated many of my years to right the wrongs that I have committed. I have implored your forgiveness through tears that choked my very words to nothing but sobs and the pathetic screeches of a sinner upon his stomach.' his eyes burned now and his throat threatened to tighten as his whispered words wobbled slightly. 'I have killed those once close to me because I knew there was no saving them no matter how badly I wanted to save them. To open their eyes to see the very thing that brought us together had been our demise from the start.'

His blurred vision landed back on the hapless piece of paper that had flipped his entire world upside down all over again. The fine scrawling words had all but physically manifested themselves in a voice that he had fought for so long to forget. It was as if Vaermina mocked him through the Altmer's handwriting, the problems this Breton faced meant life or death, and it proved one thing to him above all. 

Larysa's hand was gentle on his shoulder. 

'Erandur?'

The tears slid lazily down his cheeks and his face tensed as he sought to fight the mocking voice that resounded loudly within the memories. A lick to his lips and the words tumbled from his mouth with a feather lightness that even Larysa missed. 

'What is it, dear?'

The Dunmer hung his head further. The situation sank in. It berated him, opened his eyes that he hadn't known were closed, and showed him what he was all along. It showed him that their deaths had been in vain. That this new found forgiven existence he'd so happily chased after was nothing but a lie. It showed him that, above all, he was and had always remained one thing. Erandur could practically feel Vaermina's mocking smile as he hid his face away behind his palm and uttered the words that, to some degree, he'd felt all along. 

'I'm a failure.'


	8. Authority

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Never let you forget what, Imani?'
> 
> Her hips bucked sharply against the thumb that had brushed her clit unexpectedly. His forehead rested against hers and she couldn't tell if the fever against her skin was his or her own. The Breton felt the tears forming once more and allowed her eyes to be held captive by his until he was blurred by them. They slipped shut and her hug on him grew harsher, clutching him down against her. Ondolemar's tongue licked a slow hot trail along her lower lip and she responded with what her soul needed. 
> 
> 'You.' she rasped. 'Never ever let me forget you, Ondolemar.'

Had he allowed it, Imani was certain that sleep would have come easily for her. Sound slumber that restored her very soul and strengthened her battered spirit. Only in his company was she able to find such precious revelations now. Dreams of better things and memories of finer times dispelled the nightmares and monsters that so eagerly hunted her when she dared step away from Ondolemar. 

Ondolemar, who was easing her onto her back, spoiling the clammy flesh of her face with kisses that felt foreign with their tenderness. Mara help her, she forgot how gentle the Commander could be when prompted. He nuzzled her throat and coaxed a gentle sigh from the Breton. Her arms wrapped themselves around the thickness of his torso and she allowed her head to tilt back, giving him victory over all his lips touched. The mer settled over her and continued his attentions to her, waking within her lust that had been chased away by the things that haunted and hurt her. 

There was a certain attentiveness in his kisses, the gentle but firm slide of his palm down her waist to the hem of her sleeping tunic. Imani whimpered his name as his hand slipped upward to caress her breasts beneath the fabric earning her a lick that traced from her chin up to the slight tip of her ear. 

She shivered when he exhaled roughly against her ear, breath hot and a rasp of a growl drilling down into her mind as he palmed at her. He squeezed her breast as his teeth pinched the cartilage and gave the slightest of tugs. The girl jerked beneath him and whimpered as he expertly manipulated her body to prepare to bend to his own. With every touch the Altmer woke more and more of her that she didn't realize had been comatose. She inhaled sharply when he took her nipple between his finger and thumb and gave the little pip of skin a firm twist. His scent, leather and the honeysuckle soap he had imported from the isles, ravaged her. 

'Gods, Ondolemar.' she heard herself croak against his neck. 'I've missed you.' 

She felt him smirk against her cheek as he wrenched another gasp from her by the rougher touch of his hand. Her tongue stretched out and licked the golden flesh of his jaw, catching the slight tang of salt and musk against her taste buds. The Altmer growled, nuzzled his nose against hers, and pressed his lips to hers demandingly. The warm muscle of his mouth snaked between her parted lips and teeth and roughly twined and prodded her own. Imani was powerless once more and couldn’t fight the onslaught that had been brought to her. 

His teeth caught her lower lip and bit just enough to make her squirm. Her mouth dropped open a bit further but the needy sound that the action created was drown by the full lips that had descended upon hers once more. The more her mind woke and fuzzed at the invisible touch of desire the more she realized that Ondolemar appeared to be caught up in his own mental battle. Though his movements and touches were slow, Imani felt the tension and the hesitancy that was barely visible against her skin. _Where to begin?_ was all her mind offered her. 

Ondolemar had been powerless to stop what harmed her, only seeing her after they had brutalized her, only seeing the carnage. Only seeing the taunting reminders that he wasn't always in control. Imani didn't realize how mocking the bruises were to him. His lips navigated downward over her chin and back to the expanse of her throat. Though she was healed enough he could recall and even see the faint reminders of their vile touch. Her fingers curled and fisted the leather at his shoulders when he growled, seeing the soft red mark that rested upon her neck, and dove down to suckle at it. 

Imani groaned his name and realized with clarity that the Altmer was rightfully reclaiming and mending what had been taken and damaged, reminding her, too, that she wasn't theirs but _his_. 

Her hand trailed beneath his robe to curl around the nape of his neck and the mer groaned throatily against her collar bone. The sound vibrated down her spine and the remains of exhaustion scattered away. Imani smiled as he lowered himself to his elbow, the hand beneath her tunic reluctantly leaving her breasts with a final squeeze to both, instead favoring the edge of her smalls. His lips forced themselves against hers again and drunk on the contact and high on everything else the elf assaulted her with, Imani could only whine as he slowly eased his finger beneath the fabric. 

Ondolemar pulled away just enough for her to chase after his lips, a rough chuckle sliding breathily past his teeth. She felt his other hand snake beneath her shoulder and easily allowed him to pin her down by her hair as he twined long golden finger in her inky waves. She looked up at him and silently beckoned him to touch her, her hips squirming as his fingertips sat motionless within the soft curls beneath her underwear. 

'I know you have.' His voice was heavy with unabashed desire. 'I intend to remind you why you have such need of me.'

The fingers tangled in her hair released their hold just enough to rub at her scalp. Imani, impatient as she was, whimpered and arched into the caress. 

'What are you waiting for?' 

He smiled at the catch in her words, her need just as apparent as his own, eased down and pressed his lips against hers in a tender kiss. 

'Patience, little Breton.' he murmured as he pulled back, kissing the corner of her mouth. 'It won't do to rush such things.' 

Her mind sharpened enough to catch the darkness that had crept into his voice. Anger, she realized with startling clarity. Ondolemar lowered his lips to her neck once more, licking and sucking and biting her gently, attempting to fan her arousal back up to blur her mind in its haze. He was not upset with her, she knew this, but this was somehow her fault. Imani couldn't tend to a simple task for the Jarl now without Miraak's dark magic subduing her and forcing her to his wicked will. This wasn't fair, none of it was. Beneath the elf working so hard to take her mind off of it and her body back to his reign she felt weaker and filthy. 

'I'm sorry,' she hissed, fighting back tears of shame that came as sudden as the revulsion to her own self, 'I'm so sorry, Ondolemar.' 

At this the Altmer paused and she found herself fixed beneath his gaze. One look at her drew his brows together and set his lips into a thin line. The words unspoken were loud enough but her guilt wouldn't allow her to hear them. She wanted him, gods she wanted him, but after all she'd done-even though she didn't want any of it-she didn't _deserve_ him. _You never did._ her mind piped up snidely. Imani wondered why he was still here…why he was even "here" at all. 

_You didn't deserve this worry, Ondolemar._

'You've nothing to apologize for.' his voice was the hard authority she expected. What she hadn't expected was the feather light whisper in which it was delivered. 

'I do.' She scowled as the tears fled from her eyes. 'All of this-this-whatever this is! It's my fault! You…you never asked to be pulled into this.' 

'And neither did you, Imani.' His tone was clipped now, a warning. His observation was sound and she knew it. 

His fingers released their hold on her hair and she sniffled when the pad of his thumb caught up her tears against her cheeks. 

'Whatever is at work here is wicked. It is interfering with your health and sanity. You are a valuable asset to me and I assure you that I will figure out the cause of these attacks and how to remedy the situation.' 

'Just an asset…' she sighed and leaned into his touch. 

'You have aided me on more than one occasion. You've risked much for me. Of course I see you in high regard, Breton or not.' 

His hand returned to her hair and her eyes fluttered shut as his left sweet-almost loving had she been honest and had he not been who he was-kisses against her damped skin. 

'I'm still sorry that this is happening, Ondolemar.' 

Imani angled her head and pressed her lips against his jaw, relishing the rough scratch of stubble. 

'Silence yourself.' he breathed against her ear.

Imani inhaled sharply as the fingers resting beneath her smalls followed the curve of her body. 

'I will make you see, little human, that I care for the ones that are of worth to me.' 

The pads of his fingertips ghosted the length of her slit, a pleased growl sounding against her ear. Her body reacted immediately. She bucked against the promise he tempted her with and whimpered his name. She could hear the hunger-the need-the absolute desperation in her response. The disgust though still present was pushed aside with one easy slide of his questing fingers. They felt hot against her and she could detect the subtle buzz of his magicka held back as he leisurely explored her slick sex. 

His lips were back against hers, his kisses not tender and careful but hungry, starved, powerful and dominating. The broadness of his palm rubbed fully against her, sweeping her arousal up and evenly dispersing it over her sex. Imani held him harder and meekly fought a losing battle against his searching tongue. Miraak, the seekers, Hermaeus, they all started to vanish, blurring and fading from her thoughts with every sweep of his tongue and every rub of his hand. 

'What do you want, Imani?'

She peeled her eyes open and gazed up at him. His pupils were vast, black and honed in on her every motion. His lips shimmered, pursed, the only sign other than the clear hesitancy in the touch he halted between her thighs that he was struggling for self control. His breath was hot with each exhalation he gave. Mara save her, he was beautiful. 

'I…I want you.' 

'You want me to _what_?'

Her lower lip was caught up between her teeth and his eyes clouded further. Ondolemar was truly fighting back his own urges, battling the selfish desire to do what he had so often done before. Now, however, there was a different element playing through the hawk-like glare that had transformed his already sharp features to that of razors. All the times prior that Imani found herself in his bed, Ondolemar made certain to remind her that she was nothing but weakness and inferiority. He would chuckle it against her throat as she cried out for more, he would snarl it against her ear as she begged him to stop. 

Yes…he would **always** remind her. 

'I want you to never let me forget.' she sucked in a breath and swallowed as his lips presented themselves over his teeth in a sneer. The hand in her hair steeled and the tip of a long golden finger had started to prod teasingly at her entrance. The leather of his robes felt stiff as she curled them up beneath her hands. Beneath them she felt the heat, the tense muscle quivering and flexing, hardly contained control and unbreakable power. His lips hovered a ghosts breath above hers and she felt her very soul burning and thriving under the weight of the look upon his face. 

'Never let you forget what, Imani?'

Her hips bucked sharply against the thumb that had brushed her clit unexpectedly. His forehead rested against hers and she couldn't tell if the fever against her skin was his or her own. The Breton felt the tears forming once more and allowed her eyes to be held captive by his until he was blurred by them. They slipped shut and her hold on him grew tighter, clutching him down against her. Ondolemar's tongue licked a slow hot trail along her lower lip and she responded with what her soul needed. 

'You.' she rasped. 'Never ever let me forget you, Ondolemar.' 

_He can't protect you._ a voice hissed through her mind. 

His finger pressed into her and his kiss suffocated her. Imani relaxed back against the bedding and _felt_ for what felt like the first time just how powerful Ondolemar was. With a simple press of his hand he had done away with the venom that had poisoned her mind. The touch of his lips sent her spirit ablaze with the heat of her desire and lust for him. The Altmer pulled back, tugging her hair, exposing her throat once more. Imani sobbed as sharp glances of teeth were quelled with a gentle sweep of his tongue against all flesh he found there. 

His finger swept against her slowly, pausing with every little clench, teasing her and coaxing her to follow his lead toward the edge he guided her to. Her hips bucked on their own and from her mouth came suffering keens and sobs as she rocked against him. They stilled when a second digit pressed in aside the first, forcing her to stretch open, a soft shush sounding from against her neck when she whimpered. He eased them in, twisted and prodded at her flesh, before they surged upward and hooked. Imani cried out, her hands flying out to her sides, sheets and furs caught up in her white knuckle grip. 

She moved against him mindlessly, chasing after the pleasure he sought and easily tempted her with. Every curl of the fingers lodged hard and deep within her as Ondolemar worked her with unfair mastery easily and quickly nursed her arousal back up to overtake her. With every drag of his fingertips she felt her body clench tight around him, the promise of release growing clearer and more promising with every artful hook and spasm that followed. 

'Be a good girl and come for me, Imani.' his breath hissed against her sweat damped chest. The fingers curled up within her and pressed against her while his thumb gave her clitoris a firm rub and Imani fell victim to him. She sobbed his name as her body clutched greedily around the stilled digits and her hips bucked roughly against the thumb tracing soft circles around her. 

'Good.' Ondolemar praised, breath hot and sticky against her ear now. 'Good girl. That's it. Let it all go.' 

She thrashed against his weight, writhing and blindly clawing at the bed. His lips branded every glance of skin he caught before his hand left her hair. He shifted his weight and Imani found herself pinned by the throat as he anchored his large hand there. His thumb beckoned the remains of her release forward and sent them away in shivers that raced up her body. She whined as he gave his fingers a final pump before he withdrew them. The scent of her slick hit her senses and the hand around her neck tightened enough to remind her he was in control. 

'Open your mouth.' the dampness of his fingers left a cool trail across her lips. 'Taste yourself.' 

Her lips parted and the Breton groaned as he slipped his digits into her mouth and teased them across her tongue. Her eyes drooped as the taste-her own taste-fuzzed her mind more. Eagerly she began to lick his fingers clean, seeking every hint of herself hungrily, missing how his face contorted in ravenous appreciation. Ondolemar growled as she slipped her tongue between his fingers and gave them a gentle suck. He had missed her, her willingness, her body, her submission. 

He pulled his hand away and Imani groaned as his lips collided so hard with her own that it hurt. His tongue swept around her mouth desperately searching for any hint of her on her own tongue. His hand tugged at the laces of his breeches, seeking to free himself from the unbearable confines of the fabric. He growled as he pulled away to look down at her hungrily.

A tug to her smalls and her hips lifted as she aided him in removing them. The stifling fabric of her tunic was shoved upward to expose her heaving chest and sweat slick skin to him. His hand shifted from her throat to her shoulder and he pinned her under the weight of his broad palm as he dove down. The sound he drove from her lungs was a helpless, begging thing. Pitiful and desperate, Imani bucked against the fingers that had returned to tease her and arched against the sucks and licks the elf left upon her pebbled nipples as he hungrily switched back and forth between them. 

The cool caress of his tunic heightened her awareness. It pooled against her taut stomach and stroked against her flexing muscle, soothing the fire his touch was sending through her, amplifying it. She was practically bare and helpless beneath him, nothing but writhing and whimpers of his name, sweat slicked and starved while he remained clothed in pitch authority and watchful domination. Ondolemar was proving all over again what she had asked for; she was nothing but a prize... and he would always have his prize. 

The fingers idly tracing her sex retreated and she had no time to voice her distress. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head as they fluttered closed and against the underside of her breast, Ondolemar had paused the broad lick he'd been placing there to groan. The underside of his cock parted her swollen labia and slid smoothly up her slick sex. He was hot against her, throbbing and hard, and all she could do was lay back and endure the firm rocking of his hips against her. Her body clenched with every stroke. The broad flesh of him sent lightning through her body with every constant sweep to her clitoris. 

Her mouth dropped open and she cried raggedly when his lips skirted upward and closed around her nipple. The fingers at her shoulder squeezed and the weight increased as she squirmed. Ondolemar opened his mouth, exhaled against her damp skin hotly, and eased his tongue out to give the dusky rose pip of skin a firm lick. Her hips bucked against him as his own dropped. The head of his cock caught her opening and with only the most minute pause lingering between them pressed forward, taking control of her unexpected invitation. Imani found her hands blindly seeking hold on him once more and faintly detected the small shushing sound he made against her collar bone. Not finding purchase he paused, free hand tracing over her thigh, before he gripped the curve of her backside, lifted her, and _pushed_. 

The Breton gasped his name as he sank his heavy cock into her. Her body clenched and burned around him from the sudden stretch he forced. He pressed until their bodies nearly met, held himself there, and then pulled back. She felt every single inch as he eased back into her slowly. _Gently_. His pace was controlled and easy as if he were savoring this. A far cry from the angry hold his hands held on her. She could feel herself bruising beneath his fingertips but such things were a fleeting thought. Dust in the wind and forgotten when the Altmer rolled his hips against her. 

'Don't stop.' She heard herself gasp. 

He heeded her plea. Ondolemar rolled and sawed himself against her with calculated firmness. The spider-web ridges of the veins mapping his length stoked her insides and sent heavy waves of pleasure through her body. She could feel his heartbeat throbbing through her and her legs trembled as she lifted them to wrap them around his waist. His hand dropped from her hip and slipped beneath her other shoulder to tangle in her hair again. The other tugged her right arm from its death grip on his back and laced long, golden fingers with hers as he settled their hands by her head. 

Her eyes opened and she gasped as he stared down at her. His eyes were lidded and his eyes were dark with desire as he fixed her beneath his lust sharp gaze. His lips were swollen and parted, damp with his saliva and her sweat. She squeezed his hand and his hand tightened in her hair. She whimpered when he hissed something in the beautiful language she'd most likely never understand and pressed his lips against her jaw. 

'I'll never let you forget this, Breton.' 

The next roll of his hips speared him back into her harder. She jerked beneath him and whined as he backed up and thrust into her with a pointed snap of his hips. His lips were back against hers to suffocate her and devour any sound he drug from her. Ondolemar fucked her with slow, firm thrusts, groaning and growling down her throat with every twitch or squeeze his cock would force from her sensitive walls. 

Imani was burning alive beneath him. Every touch of cool leather and blistering lips both chilled and seared her to the bone. Every thrust of his hips shoved her closer and closer to the edge of a peak so vastly high she feared the fall. The kisses paused and her eyes opened. Ondolemar grit his teeth, elegant brows knitting and golden skin shimmering in the light of the Dwemer sconces and gave a throaty growl. His hips shifted and his reserved motions faltered. Imani cried out as he began to chase her release toward that cliff while he sought his own ledge to leap from. The elf crushed his hips against the softness of her body violently, eyes never once leaving her face as he hovered there above her. 

'Take what I offer.' 

Her eyes slammed shut at the husky command that had hissed against her parted lips. 

'Take me and remember this, Imani.' 

Her body seized and something similar to a snarl sawed past Ondolemar's lips. He snapped his hips against hers and followed with a rough roll and the Breton was gone. Imani cried out incoherently in rapture. Tears sprang from her eyes and her body hungrily convulsed around him as he held her tightly to him and found his own end in two sharp thrusts. The warmth of his release weighed her sex down as he thrust against her gently, riding out his end with tender sweeps, massaging her sensitive sheathe. 

Her head lulled back and the Breton gave a sigh when he placed a lingering kiss to her temple and untangled his hand from her hair and released his grip from her hand. He situated himself back up on his elbows and simply observed her for a moment, gladly taking in his handiwork. She looked back up at him through thick lashes and smiled meekly. His heart tumbled in his chest and the anger that had been chased away slowly crept back. This wouldn't do. 

'Sleep now. I'll have that worthless beast of a Nord draw you a bath when you wake.' 

She was already nuzzling her head against her pillow and gave a whimper when Ondolemar lifted and pulled his softening cock from her with a slick sound. Her eyes opened in worry that was quickly dashed away as he pulled her against him, situating her tunic down. He held her tight and it didn't take long for her breathing to even and her weight to lax against him. Once more, Ondolemar was left to his own pondering. This was not the works of Hermaeus Mora as he had first suspected. The taste of magic on her skin was not her own and the scent laced in her sweat was poison. 

The elf glared ahead, ears prickling and honing on every single sound he caught past her gentle breathing. Imani was being attacked by someone…and Ondolemar would be certain that they would endure the same fear they'd forced on her when he got a hold of them.


	9. Follower

Hleure Senioth for long decades had been yet another face passing through life and going unnoticed by those around him. He had followed routine with flawless and effortless mastery, each morning rising before the sun to work the docks of Ravenrock, each afternoon partaking in a bland meal at the Netch, and each evening retiring long before any of the others. 

And then _she_ showed up, clothed in secrecy and holding the title of some fabled Nordic legend. From the moment she stepped onto Solsthiem's shores it was as if _every one_ took notice. Not only took notice, but welcomed the -supposed Breton- fetcher with arms wide open. Looking back now at that fateful day, that blood boiling memory, Hleure smirked. 

Really, the Dunmer should've thanked her. Those long days spent at the docks were nothing more than an illusion traded out for the fact that he, along with many many more, were wasting their days and nights away at the Guardian Stones. Willing slaves and mindless fools to a long dead Nord seeking power and a way out of a Daedra's hold. 

Perhaps it was his jealousy. Perhaps it was his pride. None of it mattered any longer. He only remembered how humiliated he had felt when he finally came to and witnessed a little woman cloaked in shadow deliver the finishing arrow to the monstrosity that had spawned from the waters of the font. Humiliation provoked by, not only the fact that he had been another faceless slave to one who didn't care for him just as much as society didn't, but also because some _human_ had been the one to save him. To save the island. To save the society of those who didn't give a single shit about him. 

But then during the night, deep in his rage and disgust, **she** appeared. In Vaermina's embrace he had found comfort, eagerly eating her deceitful words, drowning in the sea of promise held in her arms. She had told him that she had watched him. That she had use of him where all others overlooked him. That she would raise him up and that he would be feared and revered and respected as he longed and should've been all along. 

"But… but how?" he had whispered, eyes wide with child like wonder.

Vaermina had smiled and in the next moment, Hleure's world went black. 

"You are the keeper of The Skull. You are my servant."

The dying part of his mind screamed out in a voice muted by the thunder of her own voice that he had made a mistake. A smile curled his lips and with newly awoken eyes, The Follower looked over the weapon held in his hands. The voice of reason went ignored. 

"You are destined to fulfill my wish." 

"At your command, my Prince." 

Vaermina smiled wickedly at her newest servant. 

"You hold in your heart the same hatred that is housed in my own for the Breton that defeated Miraak." 

"Truly. I do hate her." he spat, glaring up at her. 

"Peace, servant. You will soon find great joy in the thought of the Breton." 

"How?" he asked. 

"Simple," and then he awoke in his bed, Skull clutched in his hands and a new sense of purpose burning through his veins. Hleure arose from his bed and watched as armor manifested upon his body. The powerful pitch leather robes were matte, undiscernible from shadow to his form, lethal and deadly with its stealth. "You will slowly kill her." 

That made his heart skip merrily within his chest. Vaermina's voice wafted through the air of his room and he bowed respectfully to his knee. 

_"I will spawn her fears and in the end they will be her demise. You will collect them and her power will diminish and die as I grow stronger! You want revenge? As do I!"_

\---

 

Vaermina's instruction had served him wonderfully. At first it had been difficult to get near the Dragonborn thanks to her s'wit of a follower keeping constant watch over her. He had decided, while always sticking nearby, to test his new power as the Skull's holder over any nearby. The usual quarry consisted mainly of rouge bandits or hunters. 

The Follower had watched in amazement how their faces contorted with horror, eyes open wide as if conscious and witnessing their nightmares play out directly before them, all the while the aura of their fear was being collected up into the Skull in a vile shimmer. Their screams and struggles would be useless and muted, a losing battle against the Daedra and her power. 

Often, once she had her fill, she'd release them from her hold and it was then that their ear piercing shrieks of terror would wake those they traveled with. The newly awoken would stare with worry, irritation, and fear at the sight of their comrades drenched in reeking, cold sweat nearly convulsing as they tried to take back control of their rampaging hearts and their violent heaving. 

_"You see my power."_ Vaermina would hiss against the breeze tickling his face. _"You see my hunger."_

And so he did. 

Days seemed to drag sluggishly by like long weeks but the opportunity finally came. The Dragonborn made her fatal mistake. 

"Are you sure?" 

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean you have to return to Solstehiem, Teldryn."

The n'wah charged with keeping her safe skirted his gaze across the patrons of the inn. It was as if he could sense something lingered so close, a danger just beneath his gaze, but microscopic though it was without end. 

"Breton…if you," Teldryn fixed her beneath his brilliant red stare, "Something doesn't _feel_ right." 

The stupid girl had smiled. A forced show of reassurance. Hleure saw through the noticeable cracks in her façade and had smirked wolfishly. His hunger to destroy her grew ravenous in the pit of his very soul. He could no longer detect where he ended and Vaermina's influence reigned. 

"I think that's just a bad case of the feels." she had grinned with a wink. 

Teldryn had huffed and rolled his eyes. Not even he could fight away the slight dusting of pink that rose across his taut cheeks. She had giggled, easing her drink up to her lips, regarding him playfully.

"Gotcha." 

"You better come find me the second you want to gallivant around this wretched land with the trouble you cause." 

"Oh please, like you don't cause problems?" 

"That was one time." 

"Right. Which one time?" Imani cocked her head. "The one time in Whiterun where I had to save you from Jenassa after you smacked her ass? That time in the cave full of bandits when you ran into their clothes line because you hadn't cleaned your goggles and tried to fight them with a pair of man panties over your helmet? Oh! Or my favorite! The time you snuck into that pressure trap that I told you to stay away from but you decided to go all big and bad ass into a battle that was totally un-"

"Fine!" the dunmer growled. "Go on, leave me here. But remember that I provided hours of entertainment and didn't even charge for it."

"Yes," she rose, placing a chaste kiss to his cheek, "It was sure entertaining when I had to pull all those darts out of your backside." 

And as the Breton left that night to set her trek for The Reach, the will of Vaermina stalked after her, a twisted shadow at her back through the night. 

Now, as he had then, Hleure was forced to wait. Agitation wore thin his patience now. A subtle tick at his jaw and a semi permanent scowl tugged his features. 

"Why do you think he has this power?" 

Hleure ignored the Nord at his side as they peered out from the shadow to the home so tauntingly near and yet infinite distance from their clutches. With in the murk her voice arose saturating the dark and moving it to predatory life around them. 

_"I grow impatient."_

"It matters not." The mer growled, rising to his feet. "The Thalmor dog will not have reign over my lords power when she is forcibly taken from him." 

At that the Nord balked. 

"Master.…the Thalmor is strong-"

His sentence was cut short as the prowling darkness descended upon him. Hleure smiled from beneath his mask as the human drew in a desperate gasp as if drowning, and turned to look at the seizure like hold that had taken control of him. 

"You forget whom you served, fool." 

The helpless man could only convulse as the daedric lord overtook him and began to feed. 

"Ondolemar might be powerful," Hleure turned his attention back toward the home as the Nord fell dead at his feet. "But not even that Altmer can stand before Vaermina." 

_"He will fall."_


End file.
